


I Love You More Every Day

by waroftheposes



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Post Season 3, maybe too much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waroftheposes/pseuds/waroftheposes
Summary: A day in Ander's life.--(a post season 3 fic)
Relationships: Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana
Comments: 23
Kudos: 243





	I Love You More Every Day

**Author's Note:**

> _Yo te amo más cada día_  
>  \--  
> My beta helped make this fic better, she is so valuable to me  
> \--  
> I was very ambitious with this one I tried to incorporate 5 asks:  
>    
> _Prompt #1: maybe a post season 3 school fic where they find it hard to spend 24 hours a day together? like obviously they love each other but being at school together presents a new set of challenges for them_
> 
> _Prompt #2: Can you add a little bit of Rebe and Ander interactions in a future fic please?_   
>  _Prompt #2 version 2: In one of your upcoming fics can you include a Rebe and Ander interaction? Their friendship in season 3 was everything I've ever needed and more._
> 
> _Prompt #3: idk if youre taking prompts but i have an idea: i would like to read like what happens after a the last omander scene where they get bsck together on the hospital and how they act and then how did omar get to las encinas (probably ander insisted wbk) and like them getting ready together for that first day_
> 
> _Prompt #4: maybe a fic of ander and omar at las encinas together (love your fics btw)_

Ander wakes up to the sound of birds.

When he turns to his side, he sees that Omar is still asleep, breathing evenly, facing away. Weird, considering he generally wakes up before Ander. Ander lifts his body slightly to bring it closer, enough to wrap one arm around Omar’s waist, chest to back. He presses his nose to the back of Omar’s neck, kissing it softly.

Omar sighs.

Ander presses even closer to him. It’s almost light outside, that time right after dawn where the sun is still hiding somewhere and the sky is yellow and pink with its peeking reys. He thinks it must be around seven in the morning. He should wake Omar up. They need to shower and eat breakfast, get dressed for school. Omar will definitely like it better if he wakes up to Ander’s kisses than to his alarm clock.

Tilting his head, Ander kisses the side of Omar’s neck, his kiss no longer soft. He drags his mouth upward and kisses Omar again right under his ear, where his jawbone meets his neck. Omar stirs slowly, taking a deep breath and Ander smiles against his cheek. When Omar doesn’t move again, Ander kisses Omar’s cheek, his lips lingering.

Omar groans.

Ander kisses the same place again and feels his smile grow in triumph when he hears Omar swear.

Omar grumbles and shifts onto his back pushing at Ander, forcing him to sit up. He sighs when Ander is out of reach, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes.

Another moment passes in silence, then Omar asks. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” Ander answers. “But probably time to get up.”

“Ugh.” Omar opens his eyes and as soon as his gaze lands on Ander, his annoyance turns into fondness—even mischief.

“Get up,” he says, smiling sideways. “Or _get up?”_

Ander laughs. “I’m going to shower.”

He moves as if to leave the bed but Omar grabs his wrist. When he looks back, his heart skips a beat at the way Omar is watching at him, heated and expectant. Ander has to stop himself from leaning down and kissing him. He’s not going to do it today, he won’t give in. He’s going to make Omar _ask him._

“Are you going to make me ask you?” Omar says, as if reading Ander’s mind.

Biting his lip to keep from smiling, Ander shakes his head.

“Beg you?” Omar sits up, throwing his arms around Ander’s neck, grabbing the back of his head with his hands and pulling him close.

Ander closes his eyes as Omar’s forehead touches his. He touches his nose to Omar’s and smiles when he feels Omar’s lips against his own.

Ignoring every single voice telling him to stay where he is, Ander pulls back.”You know, I think we’re too used to each other. This is getting boring.”

Omar blinks at him, confused only for a moment, before looking away as he starts laughing. “Asshole.”

Ander leans forward, grabbing Omar’s shoulder. “Ask me,” he says against Omar’s lips.

Omar kisses him instead, pressing his lips against Ander’s and pulling him close once again.

Ander moves his hands from Omar’s shoulders to his face, opening his mouth and feeling his heart beating happily in his chest. He pushes Omar back with his own body, moving so that he can sit in Omar’s lap. However, when he continues trying to move Omar down toward the bed, Omar’s palm is on his chest, pushing him away.

Ander opens his eyes slowly. He looks at Omar, feeling betrayed.

Omar is watching him from under his lashes, still quite sweetly, but when Ander moves to kiss him again, Omar’s palm remains firm on his chest.

“What?” Ander asks, confused.

One corner of Omar’s mouth lifts slightly. “You need to shower.”

“Fuck you.”

“You could,” Omar says, no longer hiding his grin. “But you need to shower.”

Ander throws himself backward onto the bed, making sure he sighs loud enough that Omar hears him. “Do you want _me_ to beg now?”

“Yes.”

Omar’s voice is cheerful, but Ander is not above begging. He sits back up again and slowly places himself back in Omar’s lap, scooting forward so that he is chest to chest with Omar. He wraps his arms around Omar’s shoulders once more, and leans forward so that his nose is touching Omar’s. He kisses the side of Omar’s lip, lightly.

“Please.” His voice is no more than a whisper. He lets his lips barely brush Omar’s before moving away, not allowing Omar to react.

He can feel Omar’s breath against his cheek.

“Please,” Ander says again, though he’s not sure what he’s begging for right now. He likes saying the word though, it sets his stomach on fire.

“Please, what?” Omar is breathless.

Instead of a response, Ander kisses him hard.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, clinging to Omar’s shoulder, his body rocking against Omar’s, but the friction is making Ander feel lightheaded. He keeps his kisses lingering, demanding, deep. There’s a heat in his body that has only one release, and that release is Omar. Ander presses himself against Omar with more urgency, even as his body rocks insistently. He feels Omar’s hands on his lower back, pulling him _close, closer, but it’s not close enough._

Ander thinks he might be losing his mind. He wants every part of his skin to be touching Omar’s, he wants…

There’s a gentle knock on the door and Ander all but jumps.

He doesn’t groan. He _doesn’t_.

Ok. He doesn’t groan loud enough for his mother to hear.

“Breakfast,” she says with one more knock against the door. “Shower, boys.”

Ander drops his head, sighing. His heart is still beating rapidly, but he has responsibilities and it’s a weekday morning.

Omar kisses his cheek softly. “We’ll have all the time in the world tonight.”

They will, Ander tries to convince himself as he raises his head.

Omar is smiling gently at him. His hair is messy where Ander’s hands have touched and his eyes are sparkling. It takes a lot of self control for Ander not to lean forward and kiss him again.

“Tonight is a long time away.” His voice comes out in a whine.

“But we’ll also have time,” Omar answers. He raises his hand and gently cups Ander’s cheek. “It’ll be better than dry humping for three minutes in the morning.”

Ander drops his gaze, smiling. “Will it, though?” he asks, looking up. He leans forward to kiss Omar one more time, slow, lingering.

Omar pushes him away. “Shower! We have school, I know you’re used to it, but I am not, and I don’t like missing class.”

Ander flips him off as he walks into the bathroom.

He thinks, letting the hot water hit his shoulders and his chest, and definitely not having anything untoward cross his mind, how spectacular it is that Omar goes to school with him now. Like yeah, it sucks that they both didn’t graduate and have to take their exams again, but at least this time, they get to do it together.

Ander closes his eyes as he massages shampoo into his scalp.

His mother had been overjoyed to have Omar back. She’d insisted that he move back in with them on the day that Omar and Ander had reunited. When Omar had seemed hesitant, and Azucena had been unable to convince him, Ander had used what he’d known were very unfair methods.

He’d sat Omar down and looked at him from under his lashes. “It’s hard for me to sleep without you,” he’d said, which was the truth. “It’s hard sometimes to even breathe.”

He had known that he was being unfair, but he also had known that it would work. After he’d said this, he could see Omar’s defenses slowly crumbling. He had shattered them all with one last attack.

“I was so stupid for pushing you away before, let me make up for lost time,” he’d paused. “Please?”

Omar had moved back in that day.

He’d told Ander that he knew Ander was playing dirty and that Ander was a bastard, but he’d still moved back.

As a thank you and a welcome back gift, Azucena had asked Omar if he wanted to go to _Las Encinas_ in his last year.

Omar had looked at her, blinking, silent.

Ander’s mouth had dropped open.

“What do you mean go to _Las Encina_ s?” Ander had asked his mother, voice accusing. “He can do that?”

“I mean, technically,” she had said, avoiding both his and Omar’s gaze. “He can.”

“Could he always?” Ander had asked. “Could you have just let him in?”

His mother had sighed, closing her eyes. “It’s not that easy, Ander,” she’d said. “I can have _my children_ and dependents enrolled at the school free of charge. But I felt like it was taking advantage of the system if,” she had stopped, glancing at Omar. “If I just enrolled Omar at the school because I knew _you_ wanted him to. Nepotism is never a good look.”

“Ok,” Ander had tried really hard—and failed—not to roll his eyes. “It’s not nepotism now?”

His mother had shrugged. “You almost died,” she’d responded. “I think I’m allowed some nepotism.” She’d turned to Omar. “Do _you_ want to go to _Las Encinas?”_

“Are you kidding?” Omar had answered, eyes still wide, but mouth smiling. “I would love to.”

\--

Omar is brushing his teeth when Ander gets out of the shower.

He smiles as his eyes catch Ander’s in the bathroom mirror, his mouth filled with toothpaste. Without thinking, Ander drops the towel he’d been using on his barely growing hair. He takes a step toward Omar and drops his chin on Omar’s shoulder.

Omar doesn’t react. He brushes his teeth, bends to spit out the toothpaste, and rinses his mouth. It’s only after he’s washed all traces of toothpaste away from his mouth that he catches Ander’s eye in the mirror again.

“You brush your teeth?”

Ander shakes his head slightly. He tightens his arms around Omar.

Omar blinks slowly instead of saying anything, his tell that he’s rolling his eyes. It makes Ander laugh. He leans forward to kiss Omar’s cheek and Omar turns his head at the last minute so their noses collide and no kisses are exchanged.

“Brush your teeth.” Omar turns his back to the mirror, facing Ander. His arms come up to gently rest on Ander’s chest. “And wipe up properly, there’s water on your neck.”

Ander leans back, looking at Omar straight in the eyes as he says, “Lick it off.”

He doesn’t know if it's his tone of voice, or the way he’s looking at Omar, or the words themselves, but Omar bursts out laughing.

He gently pushes Ander away from him, still cackling. “Idiot.”

As he attempts to get back into the bedroom, Ander grabs his wrist, pulling him back. “Stay.”

“And do what exactly?” Omar drags his feet as Ander pulls on his arm, making a show of reluctance. “I thought we agreed on this.”

“You agreed,” Ander says. Omar is close enough that Ander can grab his waist and pull him even closer. “I was forced into something against my will.”  
Laughing, Omar leans forward and kisses Ander very chastely on the lips. “I’m going to go eat breakfast,” he says as he pulls away, taking Ander’s hands off his own waist and placing them purposefully by Ander’s side. “And you’re going to get dressed and come downstairs.”

Reluctantly, Ander gives in. Mostly because he doesn’t want to push Omar when he’s clearly ready to move on, also because his skin is still wet and he’s starting to feel goosebumps forming on his arms.

When he goes downstairs, Omar is already sitting at the table with his mother, chatting idly. Ander picks up a croissant, pulls out a chair next to Omar, and listens to the two of them.

They leave the house fifteen minutes later.

Riding his bike to school is fun but somewhat dangerous. Omar gets really bored really fast of just riding, and since they can’t talk, or listen to music, he generally resorts to challenging Ander to ridiculous stunts. Today it’s swerving the bike; which is not as dangerous as that time Omar kept letting go of the handlebars to see how long he could keep his bike upright, and had goaded Ander into joining him. It’s just dangerous enough that the two of them almost collide three times. Thankfully, they reach the school unharmed, no one has fallen off their bike and Omar is smiling. Ander counts it a win-win situation.

As they walk up the steps to the school entrance, Omar gently grabs Ander’s bicep. Ander has to force himself not to look down or let his mouth fall open in surprise. He _shouldn’t_ be surprised. Omar does this often; grabbing Ander’s hand, or holding on to his arm in a crowd has become second nature to Omar. Yet, every time he shows Ander affection in public, even the smallest bit of affection, Ander feels his heart leap in his throat. Every time Ander has to remind himself that this is something he gets to have.

He gets to have Omar, even though he tried his damned hardest to push Omar away. He gets to have Omar and that’s something Ander will never take for granted again. He mentally refers to the several days when Omar wasn’t living with him last year as “the dark times.”

Ander doesn’t look down at the place where Omar’s fingers are wrapped around his arm. He doesn’t look down at their joined arms with a goofy smile. He doesn’t use his own hand to press Omar’s hand.

Instead he walks down the hall toward their classroom, Omar by his side, and feels very aware of the place where they’re touching.

Omar releases Ander’s arm when they get to the classroom. He shrugs at Ander’s annoyed look.

“We can’t fit in the door together.”

Which, fair. But Ander’s not happy about it.

Samuel is already sitting at a desk. His eyes are glued to the door so he smiles when he sees Omar and gestures toward him.

“Sit with me today,” Samuel says as Omar and Ander approach him. Ander is about ninety-nine percent sure that he’s talking to Omar. When Omar looks at Ander hesitantly, Samuel continues. “Come on, you never do!”

Ander feels the need to cut in before this nonsense gets any further. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Samuel levels a glare at him. “You said that last week…”

“And the week before,” Omar supplies unhelpfully. There’s a mischievous grin on his face, which worries Ander. He’s not sure if Omar is about to mess with him or Samuel. He hopes it’s Samuel.

“And the first day of school, man,” Samuel continues. “Tomorrow never comes.”

His voice is almost pleading enough that it makes Ander _think_ about sitting with someone besides Omar today. Almost.

“But Omar doesn’t sit here,” Ander says after a moment. “He can’t just suddenly change where he sits.” Weak, but Ander can’t just say, _“Omar can’t sit with you because I don’t want him to and it’ll hurt my feelings!”_

“People change their seats all the time!” Samuel counters, because he’s not a complete dumbass.

Glancing away and biting his lip, Ander says nothing.

“Come on,” Samuel continues. “Sit with Guzman today, or Rebe. You’d love sitting with Rebe.”

The thing is, the actual real thing is, that Ander _can_ sit next to Guzman or Rebeka. He wouldn’t even be upset by it, it’s _one_ day. But it’s the principle of the thing. Ander’s an eighteen year old boy and he’s in love, he wants to sit with his boyfriend in class. He wants to knock his knees against Omar’s and tangle their pinkies together under the desk.

And Samuel doesn’t need to know that.

Actually, scratch that, no one needs to know Ander’s extremely embarrassing thoughts.

When he’s said nothing for some time, Samuel speaks up again. “Are you thinking about it?”

“No.”

“Dude, just today. You see him literally _all the time._ ”

“Not when he’s at work,” Ander counters.

“You share a room!”

“We’re exhausted by the time we get home.”

“You literally bike to school together!”

“You can’t talk while biking!”

“Yes you can?” Samuel sounds a little indignant.

Ander glances at Omar. Omar is grinning, one side of his mouth raised and the other straight. As Ander looks at him, Omar’s glance moves between him and Samuel.

“It’s hard to hear someone over all the cars,” Ander finally says. “It’s not a good time to talk.”

Samuel closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. When he opens them, he looks to Omar for help. “One day,” he says to Omar, chin raised, voice pleading. “You can’t always want to sit next to the same person!”

“Why do you care so much?” Ander asks.

Samuel turns his attention back to him. “It’s literally been weeks of Omar coming to this school and I’ve gotten to sit next to him a total of zero times.” He turns back to Omar. “Say something.”

Putting his hands up, Omar says, “I’m Switzerland. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“Ok.” Samuel turns back to Ander. “I didn’t want to do this, but I guess I have to. I just want to sit with Omar like _once_. And you owe me.”

“Do I owe you?” Ander’s brows knit together. He’s trying to think of when Samuel has done something for him that resulted in him owing Samuel, but he’s drawing up a blank.

“Yeah,” Samuel says, “you two met at _my party.”_

Ander blinks at him. Next to him he hears Omar huff out a laugh.

“I introduced you? Hello?” Samuel continues.

Ander blinks again, slowly, before turning his head to look at Omar.

Omar is watching Samuel sympathetically. “Dude, you know I love you but… you didn’t introduce us.”

“Yeah, I did, at my party… where Christian put a bunch of drugs in the punch. I brought him over and introduced you? You were all _‘nice to meet you.’_ And then you promptly forgot each others’ name. What do you mean I didn’t introduce you?”

Omar is shaking his head as he leans back against a desk. Ander follows suit.

“We already knew each other, I was just very deeply in the closet,” Omar says, his voice indulgent. “We actually met on this hook up app?” He’s looking toward Ander with a question in his eyes.

“We actually met when Omar sold me weed,” Ander says, because apparently this is what they’re talking about before class today. “Christian introduced us.”

“And then we matched on the app, and then we met up twice, and _then_ you had your party.” Omar pats Samuel on the shoulder.

Samuel closes his eyes. “What the fuck,” he says after a moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me before? I was literally under the impression this _whole_ time that you two met at that god-awful party.”

Ander watches Omar shrug. “I don’t know man, didn’t really think about it.”

“More important stuff was happening to us in the past like, year and a half,” Ander says. “You too.”

Samuel seems to shake himself out of his amazement. “Fine, so I didn’t introduce you guys. You don’t owe me,” he looks from Ander to Omar. “I give up, ok? But one of these days I _will_ get Omar to sit next to me. You’ll get sick of each other eventually.”

“You wish,” Omar says as he and Ander sit on the desk behind Samuel.

Taking his seat, Ander leans forward to whisper to Omar. “I didn’t even use the cancer card today.”

“Idiot,” Omar responds, glaring at Ander’s direction. “Don’t be stupid.”

In front of them, Samuel pipes up, “I hear discord.”

“Fuck off,” Ander laughs.

Samuel turns around to flip him off and he stays with his back to the board, talking to Omar and Ander until class starts.

\---

Ander doesn’t dislike physical education. In fact, as someone who excelled at a sport for years, he enjoys working out.

What he dislikes is the stupid rules the PE teacher comes up with to torture the kids on a regular basis. For some unknown, godawful reason, PE is always held with two combined classes. The teacher says it’s always more fun to work out in bigger numbers, but Ander thinks it’s because the more people there are, the less there is for her to do.

Either way, today they’re combined with a lower year and the teacher has instructed them to find teammates that they don’t know.

Before Ander has a chance to come up with an excuse to stay with Omar and Guzman, Omar wanders off toward the younger students and is introducing himself.

“Fucking social,” Ander grumbles, turning to Guzman. He extends his hand. “Hi, my name is Ander, I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”

Guzman shakes Ander’s hand slowly. “We have not, it’s so nice to meet you. I think we’ll be great friends.”

They manage to coerce Rebeka into joining them.

The teacher doesn’t even check to see if anyone has followed her rule. She just gives them a set of instructions and tells them to complete it in fifteen minutes.

The first thing they have to do is crunches. Ander finishes his set first, then holds Guzman’s feet as Guzman goes through his. Rebeka sits next to them, keeping time.

As he’s not counting Guzman’s crunches, his attention and gaze begin wandering around the field. With almost no effort, Ander’s eyes land on Omar and stay there.

He catalogues what Omar is doing. He is keeping time while a girl does crunches and a boy holds her feet.

Ander can feel himself smiling as he watches, happy to see Omar in such a relaxed environment, making friends. He’s about to look away when something unexpected catches his eye.

The guy holding the girl’s feet turns to Omar and puts one hand on Omar’s shoulder in a very friendly manner.

Ander narrows his eyes.

He doesn’t like that.

Not that Ander is the kind of person that feels jealous when his boyfriend interacts with other people. He loves and trusts Omar. But he and this random dude had just met, why does this guy feel comfortable enough already to basically hug Omar?

“Hey, hot shot.” Rebeka is snapping her fingers to get his attention. “It’s your turn to keep time.”

Reluctantly, Ander drags his gaze away from where that boy is now leaning his forehead toward Omar’s shoulder and takes the timer from Rebeka.

When he looks back toward Omar, almost immediately after taking the timer, it looks like Omar’s team is done with their first set and is moving on to the second. Ander watches, noticing nothing but the fact that the guy is standing right next to Omar.

Really close to him.

Way too close for someone that is not Ander, Omar’s family or an actual friend to be standing next to Omar. Far too close for a stranger.

“Ok, what’s next?” Guzman is saying as Rebeka finishes her set, looking down at their instructions. “Ok, we each have to run around the track and time how long one round takes. Who wants to run first?”

Ander, still glaring at Omar’s team, doesn’t respond.

“Ander?” Guzman asks.

“I’ll keep time,” Ander answers. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks down to see Rebeka leaning against him.

“You run first,” she says to Guzman.

Guzman doesn't argue.

When he’s out of earshot, Rebeka turns her knowing gaze on Ander. “What’s wrong with you?”

Ander says nothing. He looks down at the ground, then tilts his head, indicating where that boy is now resting his shoulders against Omar’s.

It takes Rebeka a moment to get it. But when she does, she laughs. “Excuse me, are you serious right now?”

Crossing his arms, Ander shrugs.

“Hey, pretty boy,” she says, gripping both of his shoulders and making him turn toward her. “Are you jealous?”

She’s wearing a shit-eating grin that says she can’t believe Ander right now.

He shrugs again, purposefully and obviously avoiding her gaze.

“Ander,” she laughs for the second time. “Ander, please.”

Ander turns his glare toward her.

“Ander, please tell me you’re not this fucking fragile,” she continues, biting her lip. Ander doesn’t like how lightly she seems to be taking this whole ordeal.

He shrugs for the third time.

“Dude,” she says, hands coming up to grip his face. Quickly, her teasing smile is replaced with serious eyes and a set mouth. “Ander, come on. Every boy that’s touching Omar isn’t hitting on him. And you can’t fucking tell me you think Omar is gonna be interested in some random guy he met once in PE.”

Ander raises both his eyebrows and drops them, keeping his mouth shut.

“Omar?” Rebeka asks incredulously. “Omar who is, like, stupid in love with you?”

When Ander drops his gaze, she slaps him gently with one palm.

“Like, stupid in love. Like he failed all his exams last year because of you.”

Ander has no response for her. Sometimes, he feels jealous even though he knows he shouldn’t. He trusts Omar’s feelings for him a whole fucking lot. Especially after the whole Malick thing, when Omar assured him that he never had feelings for Malick and only fucked him out of hurt and desperation. But sometimes… sometimes when he sees Omar with another boy, just talking and being comfortable, he unwittingly feels the tiny pricks of jealousy stabbing his heart.

Ander knows it’s stupid. He knows that Omar _talking_ to someone doesn’t mean he’ll develop feelings for them. He doesn’t want to feel this way.

And yet, here he is, sulking because some boy is smiling too widely at Omar and touching his arm.

“Ander, please tell me you know you’re being unreasonable.”

Ander sighs, making a point of slowly rolling his eyes so she can see how done with her attitude he is. “I know,” he answers finally.

“Good.” Rebeka lightly shoves Ander’s head with her hand. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

“Yeah, ok,” Ander responds, though he doesn’t feel any better.

He sulks throughout the rest of their sets.

He sulks as Omar cheerfully says goodbye to his new friends and rejoins Ander, Rebeka and Guzman. He sulks as they are dismissed back to the locker room, and doesn't participate in the conversation that Omar is holding with Rebeka.

Omar clearly notices because he grabs Ander’s arm and pulls him aside as they get dressed.

“What’s wrong?”

Omar looks concerned and Ander definitely feels guilty enough about his own stupid thoughts to lie. “Nothing, why?”

Looking side to side at who is around them, then turning back to Ander, Omar sighs. “Really?”

“It’s stupid.” Ander shakes his head. “Like really stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

Omar frowns, not looking at all reassured by Ander’s words. “Of course I’m worried. Come on, tell me please. I want to know.”

Ander moves forward until he’s in Omar’s embrace. When he feels Omar’s hands on his waist, he drops his head on Omar’s shoulder. “It’s really stupid.”

“Ander…” Omar’s voice is disapproving.

Ander raises his head and looks around the locker room. Most of the people have already dressed and made their way to the cafeteria. He watches the few remaining boys as they slowly leave until he and Omar are alone in the locker room.

Ander takes a step back from Omar. “So…”

“Are you going to tell me?” Omar is looking at him expectantly.

Ander scratches his face, then his head, then he crosses his arms.

“You’re going to stall.”

Ander sighs. “It’s really fucking stupid, Omar.”

Omar leans against his own locker. “I do not care.”

“Like the, I feel embarrassed telling you, kind of stupid.”

Omar gently bangs his head against his locker, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t care.”

Ander watches Omar’s throat, the way his neck stretches as he tilts his head up. He wants to lean forward and kiss the side of Omar’s neck, maybe try to get him to forget this nonsense. But when he leans forward, one of Omar’s palms, planting itself firmly on Ander’s chest, stops him.

Omar’s gaze drops back down toward Ander, unwavering. “Tell me,” he says firmly.

“Fine.” Ander takes a seat on the bench. “But you can’t be mad at me because I told you it was stupid, and I didn’t want to tell you.”

Omar stands over him, looking down at Ander and cupping Ander’s face with a smile. “I promise I won’t be mad.”

“You promised,” Ander reiterates, just to make sure. He sighs. Looks up at Omar, then levels his gaze down to his own lap. “Maybe,” he begins and stops. It really was stupid of him to feel any kind of jealousy. He doesn’t _need_ to share it with Omar. But Omar wants him to share.

Ander tries again. “Maybe… during PE, I looked over and saw one of your teammates being _way too_ friendly with you, and maybe I didn’t like that.”

Ander looks up at Omar. Omar is looking down at him, mouth sealed shut, eyes expectant, waiting.

“And maybe I know that that kind of jealousy is ridiculously juvenile, and maybe I trust you a lot and know how much you love me, and _maybe_ I just can’t help it, and the reason I’m sulking is because I didn’t like seeing that dude standing way too close to you, but I also know that I’m being unreasonable…” Ander stops as he watches Omar’s face transform from confusion into fondness. “Maybe, I should have just kept it to myself because again, it’s pointless and stupid and really _I know_ that I’m in the wrong and I can’t help feeling this way, but I’ll get over it.”

Smiling, Omar leans down and kisses Ander’s forehead gently. “I don’t want you to get over it,” he says, holding Ander’s head against his own chest. Ander can hear his heartbeat. He closes his eyes, letting the sound relax him. “I want you to tell me all your feelings, no matter how stupid you think they are,” he finishes. He gently pushes Ander’s head away and grabs his chin, tilting it up. “I want… no I _need_ you to be honest with me, Ander,” he says, lips centimeters away from Ander’s, so close, that Ander can feel Omar’s breath against his own face.

“Ok,” Ander whispers.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Ander tilts his head just a bit higher and brushes his lips against Omar’s.

He means it to be a chaste, barely there, promise kiss, but as soon as his lips touch Omar’s, Ander feels heat curling in his gut. A heartbeat, and desire is everywhere, pumping through his veins, clouding his brain, making him dizzy with want.

He always wants Omar, and sometimes he’s able to ignore that desire and pretend it’s not there.

But when they kiss…

Well, Ander is eighteen.

He stands, hands coming up to cup Omar’s face, even as Omar’s fingers wrap around his shoulders. He presses Omar against the locker behind him and keeps pushing, gripping Omar’s hair, opening his mouth, and pressing his entire body against Omar’s.

Omar makes a sound in the back of his throat and Ander _knows_ that sound. Omar makes it involuntarily when he’s turned on.

It drives Ander crazy.

His already heated body feels like it’s on fire. He moves his hands down to Omar’s hips, grips them momentarily before hooking one thigh around his waist.

Omar inhales sharply at the new angle and his hand on Ander’s shoulders move up to grip his head. He bites down on Ander’s lip. In response, Ander grasps Omar’s other leg. His grip tight on both Omar’s thighs, he hoists Omar’s other leg up to wrap around his waist as well. As soon as Omar’s feet are off the ground, Ander moves his hands up his thighs, making sure he can handle the new weight. The action pushes Omar’s hips forward and against Ander’s and Ander gasps, shuddering.

He thinks that he could come like this, with Omar pressed against the locker, his legs wrapped around Ander’s waist, their mouths separating only when they need to take a breath, hips pressed against each other, bodies moving together.

What was Ander upset about before? Why was he sulking? He can’t remember, he can’t even think. The only thing that matters to him now is Omar. Ander’s whole world has shrunk down to this; to the feel of Omar’s tongue against his own, of Omar’s hands clutching at his short hair, of Omar’s heels digging into his back.

Ander can come from this. He’s eighteen. Embarrassingly, it’s happened before.

He pulls his lips away from Omar’s, and before Omar has a chance to protest, he’s moved his head to Omar’s neck, to the place he’d thought about kissing before. But he doesn’t remain kissing Omar’s throat for long, because Omar’s hands pull his head back up and then Omar’s mouth is on his once more.

And ok, Ander is very close and if his brain were working right now, maybe—unlikely as it may seem—he’d feel some hesitance about getting off at school. But his brain is not functioning right now. He just wants _more_ , more skin, more kisses, more touches, more friction, more Omar.

It’s not enough yet, but Ander thinks it could be soon.

He doesn’t hear the door opening.

He does hear the pointed cough.

Turning, Ander allows Omar’s legs to drop to the ground. Next to him, Omar is breathing heavily.

Ander tries not to look annoyed when he sees that the intruder is Guzman.

“What?” Ok he is absolutely annoyed.

“Lunch is almost over,” he says, looking at Ander like he’s a misbehaving child. “You don't want to be late for English class.”

Ander closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Fuck you,” he says, exhaling slowly.

“Hey,” Guzman says. “Better me than let’s say… your mom, right?” He gestures to Omar and Ander with a hand. “Come on, I need to borrow some notes and you have a room at your house. A private room.”

Ander flips him off. The gall of Guzman, lecturing Ander about rooms when there’s literally a video of him having full on sex in this very locker room. “Don’t talk to me about privacy right now.”

His tone makes Guzman laugh. With a last, “get dressed I literally need those notes,” Guzman leaves the locker room.

Ander turns back to Omar, intending to kiss him again, but Omar’s gaze is fixed on the locker room entrance.

“I really don’t want your mom to walk in here,” he says when Ander kisses his cheek.

Ander shakes his head. “There is literally no chance that my mother has time to wander into the boys’ locker room right now.”

“Still,” Omar says, palms pushing on Ander’s chest. “I don’t want to chance it.”

“Fuck.” Despite his protest, Ander steps back willingly. “This is the second time today, I just want you to know.”

Omar laughs at him as he turns to open his locker. “Blue balls won’t kill you.”

“Won’t they though?” Ander doesn’t want to put an end to what they were doing, but he’s also not going to push Omar to do something he’s not comfortable with. He goes to his own locker and begins to get dressed.

“Oh,” Omar says, still slightly breathless, after they’ve dressed and gathered their stuff. “For the sake of being completely honest, the guy on my team _did_ ask if I was single.”

Ander looks at him sharply. “Excuse me?”

“And I said I wasn’t and that was that,” Omar continues. “Nothing to worry about.”

As Omar grabs his hand and leads him out of the locker room, Ander says, “So I was right, he _was_ flirting!”

Omar laughs at him.

\--

He makes sure he’s holding Omar’s hand any time they’re outside of class, just in case.

\--

Ander is peeved and very surprised when they get home and Omar wants to _finish his homework._

“But--” Ander says, eyes wide, with the corners of his mouth turned downward. “But…”

Omar glances at him before taking out his notebook and sitting at Ander’s desk wordlessly.

“Seriously?” Ander does not throw himself down on his bed in a tantrum. He’s an adult, he doesn’t have tantrums.

Omar turns around in the chair. “You know how neither of us graduated last year?” He’s looking at Ander with his eyebrows raised. “You know how we could have avoided that?”

Ander shrugs. “Me not having cancer?”

“Asshole,” Omar laughs and turns back to whatever homework he needs to be doing.

Ander sits up on the bed to get his own school bag, but once he’s got his notebook out and open, he finds that he cannot focus on homework at all. He keeps getting distracted by every move that Omar makes, every frustrated sigh and muffled curse. Ander tries, not very hard, but he does _try_ to get some math done. It doesn’t work.

After about five minutes, he gives up on the homework and begins tearing out pieces of paper from his notebook.

It doesn’t take him very long to make paper airplanes. It does, however, take him a few tries to hit Omar with one.

Omar must have been pretty concentrated on what he’d been doing because he jumps as the paper plane hits the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he says, when he turns and looks at what had hit him. His head lifts and he looks at Ander witheringly, but Ander can see that he’s forcing his mouth into a hard line. “Really?”

Ander shrugs. He can’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m bored.”

“Do your homework! Damn!” Omar loses the battle with his lips and laughter spills out of them.

“I can’t,” Ander answers. “I keep getting distracted by you.”

Omar looks at him with disbelief. “I’m literally doing homework. What do you mean you keep getting distracted by me?”

Ander stands up, walking toward Omar and turning his chair around. “You distract me,” he says lightly, arms on either side of Omar. “Your presence is distracting.”

Omar laughs, “Fuck off.”

Leaning close enough that his nose almost touches Omar’s and looking directly into Omar’s eyes, Ander whispers, “make me.”

And really, Ander knew he could make Omar break easily.

This time, when their kisses get heated, there are no interruptions. Only the feel of Omar’s skin against Ander’s, his hands on Ander’s chest, his breath on Ander’s face.

He wraps himself around Omar afterwards, refusing to leave the bed even though Omar keeps saying that they both need to wash up. He grips Omar tighter when Omar tries to get up, digs his nose into Omar’s shoulder, and closes his eyes.

“Idiot,” Omar says to him fondly and stops trying to leave the bed.

They lay together in Ander’s bed as the afternoon light turns orange and red. Finally, when they hear Ander’s mom opening the door and calling out to them from downstairs, Ander disentangles his limbs from Omar’s and sits up on the bed.

“Do we need a shower?” he asks Omar lazily.

Omar looks pointedly at Ander’s stomach, then his own. “Yeah, for sure.”

They waste a lot of time in the shower, with Omar kissing every single freckle on Ander’s face and neck, then his tattoos, then lower, until Ander closes his eyes and gasps, desperate as if they hadn’t just gotten off just an hour ago.

After they emerge from the shower and make their way downstairs, they find Ander’s mom with a glass of wine watching some reality show.

“There’s dinner,” she says, not looking away from the television. “If you’re hungry.”

Ander gets plates and Omar fills them and they eat sitting in front of the television next to Ander’s mom.

The living room window is open and the evening breeze is so relaxing and gentle, that after he’s done with the food, Ander feels himself beginning to nod off.

He’s almost asleep, his head resting against Omar’s shoulder and his eyes closed, when he feels Omar poking him.

Ander raises his head, opens his sleep-heavy eyes to glare at Omar. “What?”

“Homework,” Omar responds.

Ander shushes him, but it’s too late, the damage is done.  
“You’re not done with your work?” his mother is looking at him with concern. “It’s getting late, Ander.”

“Ugh,” Ander responds, but when Omar stands up and stretches a hand toward him, Ander takes it and allows Omar to drag him upstairs.

He opens the window when they get upstairs, so that the same gentle breeze can keep the two of them company while they work.

The homework takes entirely too long, but it’s nice, it’s so fucking nice, working with Omar on the same questions, sharing his furstration about something with Omar, having Omar help him with problems he doesn’t understand.

Outside, the sky changes from the deep red of evening into the soft violet of dusk. Omar looks up as the light dwindles, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

“Are you done?” Ander asks him. He puts his own pencil down and watches Omar unwinding.

“Are you?” Omar asks him, peering at his notebook.

“Yeah,” Ander says, and he is. “Time?”

Omar looks at his phone. “Almost nine.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” Ander asks, and before Omar has a chance to respond, he continues. “And I am already saying no to any artsy gay movie with subtitles. I’m not watching _Call Me By Your Name._ I’m saying no tonight, Omar. We did homework like you wanted, I want to watch a movie I’ll enjoy.”

Omar laughs softly, a laugh suited for the gentleness of the night. A laugh full of a fondness which Ander knows is just for him.

“What would you like to watch then?”

Ander shrugs. “Something with guns.”

Omar stands, making his way over to Ander, sitting next to him. “And buff guys?”

“And explosions.”

Kissing Ander’s cheek softly, Omar asks. “Jumanji?”

Ander nods.

\--

Ander makes sure to hold Omar’s hand as they lay in bed, trying to sleep. Tomorrow they have to go back to school, they have to sit in class and learn and study, but right now, it’s just the two of them in bed, their legs tangled together, Omar’s breathing even as he succumbs to sleep.

And in his contentment, Ander is aware of how rare a moment like this is. How lucky he is to experience this type of peace in his life, laying down next to someone he loves.

He sighs as the sound of cicadas break the night’s silence. Turning one last glance toward Omar, Ander closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep.

He doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Are we surprised that I used lyrics from _Morir Solo_ again? I don't think so.  
> \--  
> This fic was my own challenge for myself: see if you can write people doing more than kissing. 
> 
> Let me know if I succeeded and come yell at me on [tumblr](https://waroftheposes.tumblr.com/) about Elite, the only show that matters in these trying times.


End file.
